


A Lot of Love and a Little Bit Dumb

by LollipopCop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff without Plot, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, and a bit of a moron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: Crowley came right out with it. “I want to love you so badly,” he confessed, his voice weak. “I really wish I could,” he said earnestly, his chest aching.Aziraphale’s face fell into utter anguish and he gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh,Crowley,” he said sorrowfully. “My dear, after 6,000 years, how can you bethisstupid?”Crowley stared at him, dumbfounded. That...was unexpected.~Crowley feels horribly guilty because he believes that he, as a demon, is incapable of loving Aziraphale back. At leastoneof them has an ounce of common sense...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 134
Kudos: 1570
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Courts GO Re-Reads, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Top Aziraphale Recs





	A Lot of Love and a Little Bit Dumb

**Author's Note:**

> I'd seen fics where Aziraphale thought Crowley couldn't love and was upset by it, but I wanted to do the reverse. This is really just a one-shot of Crowley being a loving dumbass.

By 2019 AD, Crowley had to come accept who he was as a demon, although that didn’t mean he wasn’t still resentful over being thrown out of Heaven in the first place, and sure, he still bemoaned his punishment to God when no one was looking that he only hung around the wrong people and questioned, but he was never going to be anything but a demon again, so. That was that. He had to deal with the fact that there were certain things he couldn’t do now that he was one of the Fallen, and nothing could change that. He was okay with this, really, until after the failed apocalypse.

Okay, so, Crowley had a bit of a thing for Aziraphale. Maybe that was a massive understatement, but what else would he call it? Devotion? Fondness? Admiration? Adoration? Well, yeah, those terms applied, but he couldn’t say it was love. No matter how warm and mushy his chest felt when Aziraphale grinned happily at him, no one but the Almighty could change that demons were incapable of feeling that particular emotion. He may have gone out of his way to rescue Aziraphale and do little things to make him light up with glee, and the thought of losing him was nothing but anguish, but that was...something else. Crowley was able to _like_ people and things, of course, so he liked Aziraphale a lot. That was as far as he could go, though. It was just part of being Damned. Love was reserved for angels, and then when God made humans in Her likeness, she gave them the ability to feel it, too. It was only those permanently out of her favor who could never love. Everyone knew that. He just liked Aziraphale as much as he could, was all. People can cry their eyes out and give up on saving the world because they think their favorite person died due to liking them, right? Right. He just thought Aziraphale was a wonderful combination of being a ray of sunshine who would turn around and be an absolute stubborn bastard at a drop of a hat. And Crowley wanted to spend the rest of his life with Aziraphale while making him happy. That was all. No big deal.

Crowley’s inability to love never bothered him until he found out Aziraphale loved _him._ That was the problem that was starting to keep him up at night.

On their first night together, Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on his and he literally glowed with golden light as he moved inside of Crowley, thrusting deeply but gently.

Crowley had felt like he was going to lose his mind, actually, with how good it felt and the overwhelming bubbling sensation in his chest. No one ever looked at him like that before, like he was something _good;_ no one had ever done this to him. He was tempted to turn his face and look away, unaccustomed to such attention. Heat swirled in his flushing cheeks and his pelvis, and he bit his lip as he squirmed his hips. He managed to stammer, “Guh-glow?”

Aziraphale blinked and stopped moving for a second, looking down at himself. “Oh, goodness,” his blush grew redder. He smiled sheepishly and resumed thrusting, causing Crowley’s eyes to roll into the back of his head. “Sorry, but it’s the love, you see.”

Crowley’s mouth was dropped open and his eyes were closed in pleasure, his legs wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s soft thighs and trembling. But the words registered and his eyes flew open. “What?” he asked dumbly.

Aziraphale laced their fingers together on the mattress, rolling his hips. Arousal was clear on his face, but there was a slight shyness to his grin. “I can’t really control it right now. My dear—being this close to you, I can’t hold it back.”

Crowley stared at him, the pleasure washing over his body beginning to be outweighed by growing horror. “You—?” he croaked. Suddenly, there was a painful lump in his throat. No, he must have misheard, or misinterpreted. No. Just deflect with humor. “Um. That’s so not cool.” No, what was he doing?! He couldn’t be mean!

Aziraphale only smiled. “Perhaps.” He kissed him hard. “I love you, Crowley,” he murmured.

Crowley’s heart instantly tore in half and a block of ice dropped into his stomach. The shock of it caused him to scramble and wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, and he tried to hide his face and his wide, frightened eyes. Oh, no. No, no, no. This wasn’t good. This was definitely a terrible discovery, but Aziraphale was created to love; _of course_ he would love Crowley. He couldn’t help it, the poor thing. He was obligated to love everything God made, and apparently that applied to demons, too. 

Crowley was whimpering into Aziraphale’s shoulder, clinging onto him and feeling very, very guilty. What had he done? But he didn’t mean to. He knew how painful unrequited feelings were, to an extent, since he dealt with the sting of rejection throughout history (that night in his car in 1967 and under the band stand a few months ago came to mind…). But he couldn’t love as Aziraphale could, so Crowley had no idea how painful it was to be head-over-heels for someone only to receive nothing in return. 

An angel was in love with the unloving. What a sick joke God was playing on them. This wasn’t fair to Aziraphale. He didn’t deserve the pain of unrequited feelings. Crowley somewhat knew what that felt like, since their friendship felt one-sided at times, and he never wanted Aziraphale to feel that pain. But heartbreak would be a million times worse for him, because he actually felt love, and Crowley did not. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. “You’re trembling.”

Crowley hugged him even tighter, his wide eyes staring at the wall. His chest felt hollow. He never wanted to hurt Aziraphale, ever.

He slowed his thrusting, raising his eyebrows. “Do you want me to stop?”

Crowley shook his head frantically. He was in a tough spot. He didn’t want to tell Aziraphale what was wrong and deeply upset him, but he didn’t want to lie and say it back, either. He never lied to Aziraphale about anything important, and lying about something as important as that would be unimaginable. “It’s jus’ a lot,” he mumbled, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say that resembled the truth.

A gentle hand stroked his hair. “It’s all right,” Aziraphale told him. “It’s okay, dear.”

Except it wasn’t! Crowley went and did something horrible without even knowing or intending to. If he had known Aziraphale would go and fall in love with him, then he would have stayed away from him. He would have saved him the heartache. Crowley would have been miserable without Aziraphale, permanently, but the separation would have been worth saving him the pain. As soft as Aziraphale was, it took him ages (literally) to admit his feelings, and if he finally opened up only to be rejected, he might close his warm heart off for good. If only Crowley could have foreseen this and prevented it, but he never thought anyone would love him.

His eyes stung and he closed them tightly, hugging him for dear life as Aziraphale fucked—no, _made love_ to him.

The thing was that he was stuck. Crowley couldn’t leave him _now,_ after Aziraphale shook off millennia of fear and _confessed_ to him. That would be a hideous, monstrous thing to do. He would never forgive himself. Crowley pictured Aziraphale’s beautiful face falling as he explained that he couldn’t ever return his feelings, no matter how hard he tried, so it’d be best if they parted ways. Aziraphale would shut down, grow awfully quiet, and feel ashamed for opening himself up for the rest of his life. No. Crowley couldn’t do it. He would never rest again if he did that to Aziraphale, or, Someone-forbid, made him cry. That was unacceptable. 

Crowley felt incredibly greedy as he soaked in every praise that left Aziraphale’s lips as they rocked together on the old bed above the bookshop.

“Oh, Crowley, I know.” His voice was rough and filled with compassion. “Trust me, my dear, I know it’s overwhelming. But I’m, I’m here for you, my dear boy.”

Crowley surged up and captured his lips roughly, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. This was the best he could do. His only option was expressing how much he liked Aziraphale through his actions. That was what he’d always done, wasn’t it? He ran into a church and burned the soles of his feet to save Aziraphale’s curly little head and in the hope that he would be taken back, after their fight in 1862. Crowley was always a man of action (or, demon of action. Whatever).

Aziraphale was pounding into him now, the bed frame creaking and the top of the bookshop being filled with their heavy, open-mouthed breathing and moans. Well, Crowley was doing most of the moaning. He felt like an absolute fucking wreck right now, with his heart never feeling so hurt and exposed, but cherished, too. If he hadn’t been in his own head so much, he would have noticed the tear tracks down his cheeks.

Aziraphale came before he did, groaning loudly and shaking. “Oh, dearest.”

Crowley threw his head back and cried out, and he kept whimpering even after he was finished and Aziraphale held him through the aftershocks.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked in alarm. “Oh no, did I hurt you?”

“No,” Crowley said wetly into his throat. “I promise.” Physically? It had been amazing. Emotionally? Crowley felt like he was going to fall apart. But he couldn’t do this forever. He couldn’t ruin their relationship any more than he already had by simply being who he was. He sniffed, pulling himself together. He had to try for Aziraphale. He needed to make him happy. He wished so very much that he could shower Aziraphale with the love he wanted and deserved, but nothing could be done. If he couldn’t love him back, he would have to go out of his way to dote upon him as much as he could. He had a purpose now. He opened his eyes.

Aziraphale was lying on his side with him, round cheeks pink as his kiss-swollen lips. His hair was a disheveled mess of curls from Crowley’s hands during their kisses earlier. His gaze was hazy and dark, and the literal golden glow was gone and replaced with a more subtle post-coital one. He furrowed his brow. “Are you positive?”

Crowley nodded and hugged him tightly, burying his face into his chest. Remorse tore at his nerves. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the sticky mess on their torsos was gone.

Making sure his voice didn’t shake, Crowley said, “Heh. Good...good thinking.”

“Semen is such a nuisance.”

Crowley snorted. “Of course you’re fussy about sex, too.”

Aziraphale hugged him. “Well, you know me.”

“Yeah, I do.” They fell into silence after that. Crowley laid there, feeling like he’d done something awful. Here he was, having stolen the love of an unsuspecting angel. It was the gravest sin he ever committed.

* * *

Crowley put on a happy face after that (or what counted as a happy face by his standards) for Aziraphale’s sake. He decided to throw himself all in, being the best partner he could possibly be. He took Aziraphale on dates, even to places he didn’t personally like (such as the ballet...urgh). It was worth seeing Aziraphale smile, though, and the grateful kisses Crowley received were a nice reward. There he was, being a greedy demon again, doing things because he enjoyed what he got in return. Love was supposed to be selfless, right? But he wasn’t. 

Another plus was that they spent far more time together now, and Crowley wondered how he went 6,000 years without hugging Aziraphale as he read a book on a daily basis. He loved lying on the old sofa in the back of the shop and letting Aziraphale rest his back against his chest. Crowley would wrap his arms around his soft middle and inhale the scent of his cologne. He felt like he was hugging a stuffed bear—not that he knew what that was like! But he liked it. Aziraphale was a warm and solid weight against his chest, and when he read aloud, the vibrations from his voice went through Crowley. He would nuzzle his face into the side of his neck and close his eyes, feeling like warm puddy as he held this teddy-bear-angel. That was one of his favorite things they did together.

One afternoon, Crowley blinked open his eyes, disoriented. He was wrapped in a soft blanket on the sofa that hadn't been there when he closed his eyes. He lifted his head, looking around.

“There you are,” Aziraphale appeared with a mug of cocoa in his hands.

Crowley sat up. “Where’d the blanket come from?”

“I put it around you,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes. “Did you think you miracled it in your sleep?”

Crowley sat there, gears turning in his head. “You...tucked me in?”

“You seemed cold.”

“Snakes are always cold.”

“I was right, then.”

Crowley looked down at the blanket, which had yellow, cartoon baby ducks on them. No one ever tucked him in before. No one ever put demons to bed. His heart felt funny. “This looks like a child’s blanket.”

Aziraphale sat down on the edge of the sofa and sipped his cocoa. “Stop complaining.”

Crowley really wasn’t, though. He just never thought anyone would care about him enough to tuck him in. He was thinking again that he didn’t deserve Aziraphale’s love, and he got off the sofa. “I’m gonna go for a drive. Feeling antsy.”

“All right. Have fun, but don’t discorporate yourself.”

When the Bentley played “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” on its speakers, Crowley hissed at the car until it stopped.

* * *

Aziraphale, the bastard angel, kept being a wonderful partner. Did he still have his moods? Oh yes, but Crowley wouldn’t trade their trivial bickering over taste in style and music and who remembered what historical event correctly for the world.

“Your mustache in the 1970s was _dreadful,_ Crowley.”

 _“Your mustache in the 1970s was_ dreadful, _Crowley,”_ he mocked in a high-pitched voice. “At least I haven’t been wearing the same coat for 180 years.”

“Good fashion is timeless,” Aziraphale said haughtily.

“Agreed, when it’s actually good fashion.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “You’re hopeless.”

Crowley smirked. “I’m right.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” he grumbled and stomped away.

Crowley was pleased, but he was, again, thinking that he wasn’t worthy of such compliments when he was engaging in such deceit. He really had no idea what to do when Aziraphale praised his looks or called him _dearest_ or _darling._ Crowley thought that Aziraphale deserved to be called terms of endearment, but the words wouldn’t come to his lips no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it was another demonic feature. He didn’t know.

“You are, too,” he mumbled, but it was too quiet, and Aziraphale was out of earshot.

Damn it. He’d have to go buy him a box of chocolates to make up for it.

* * *

A few months after they got together, Aziraphale almost gave Crowley a heart attack. They were at a restaurant, talking and laughing as Aziraphale dined. Crowley was finishing off his glass of wine, and Aziraphale noticed.

He called over their waitress with a friendly smile. “Would you please get another glass of wine for my husband? Thank you, dear.”

The last of the wine that had been in his glass went from being inside of Crowley’s mouth to spurting out his nostrils, which burned like crazy and caused him to cough. _Husband?!_ Oh, shit, that was deep. That was really serious. Aziraphale was only growing fonder of him, and what had Crowley given him in return? A fat load of nothing.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale dropped his napkin in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Sir, are you okay?” the waitress asked.

Great, he was making a scene. Crowley waved a hand at her. “I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

The waitress looked worried, but nodded and walked away.

Aziraphale reached across the table and held his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Crowley was sitting there, wiping wine from his nostrils like an idiot. “Whuh?”

Aziraphale took his hand off his and looked away, eyes cast downward. “That title, erm. It isn’t as if I asked if that’s suitable to use, so that’s my fault.”

 _Oh Satan, just club me with a bat._ This was exactly what he didn’t want to do! He only reacted the way he did because 1.) he didn’t think anyone would ever call him their _husband_ and 2.) Aziraphale thought of him as a _spouse_ (!) and Crowley couldn’t even love him no matter how hard he tried. Now he went and embarrassed Aziraphale because of how he reacted to the new title. He had to fix this.

“No!” Crowley rushed to say. “No, no, it’s not a bad thing.” _Not for the reason you think, at least._ “I mean, it’s cool. I’m not bothered. Just surprised, is all. Um. It made me think of getting married in a church, and my feet would burn off before the end of the ceremony.”

Aziraphale’s eyes brightened and he laughed heartily. “Oh, what a morbid thought! As if we would ever do that.”

Crowley slunk back in his chair, relieved that he made him laugh.

Aziraphale touched his hand again, blue eyes gazing at him earnestly and tenderly. “So, I can call you that?” he asked hopefully.

Crowley could never deny him a request when he looked like that. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he croaked.

Aziraphale looked even happier. “Excellent.”

Crowley felt like such a fraud.

* * *

Life went on for a couple of weeks rather uneventfully. Crowley was pretty good at pushing his internal crises aside, so his relationship with Aziraphale continued and it was almost annoying with how great it was. It was so good that Crowley wanted to scream into a washing machine or something, because otherwise, he felt like he was going to turn into a clingy moron who constantly wanted a hug, although Aziraphale was happy to comply. He was a cool demon, so why did he want so many hugs? Okay, he knew why. At least no one from Hell was around to see this side of him. 

But the thoughts in Crowley’s head refused to leave him alone, and guilt slid under his skin and pricked at his nerves as more time passed and Aziraphale only seemed to grow more peaceful by his side. How could he be so happy when Crowley couldn’t return his feelings?

When it came to their relationship, throughout most of history, it took a serious event to bring things to a boiling point. This time, however, Crowley fell apart on a completely normal day over absolutely nothing at all. He was sitting on the bed in the cozy flat above the bookshop, watching old sitcoms on his laptop because he was bored and Aziraphale was ignoring him in favor of attending to his dumb books downstairs. Crowley didn’t really think they were dumb, and secretly read some stuff at his flat when he was alone, but anything that made Aziraphale ignore him pissed him off. So Crowley sat there with a pout and watched reruns of _The Nanny,_ because why not? Hell couldn’t stop him from spending all day watching Fran Drescher anymore. Why was it an American television show from the 90s that caused Crowley’s breath hitch painfully in his throat? Perhaps it was a long time coming. Nevertheless, he was watching later seasons when Fran was ready to pack up her bags and leave her love, Mr. Sheffield, because he wouldn’t commit to her.

It suddenly came crashing down on Crowley like a ton of bricks that _this_ was his future. Celestial beings may have more patience than most due to a looser relationship to time, but Aziraphale would surely realize his feelings would never be entirely returned, and decide what was best for him and leave. Aziraphale was kind, but he wasn’t stupid, nor a masochist. He wouldn’t take this forever. As much as Crowley wanted to enjoy their relationship as long as he could, the anxiety of waiting for that day to come would become unbearable. He was already freaking out. He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to be honest with Aziraphale. He was a demon, but he wasn’t a _monster,_ he wasn't a _sham._ He was going to lose his mind if he had to spend who-knows how many years (or decades, or centuries, or millennia) dreading the day Aziraphale decided enough was enough. 6,000 years of pining was easier than this, because at least there was hope, but the panic of losing what he held so dear was miserable. He had to cut his losses now.

Crowley didn’t even bother turning off the laptop before he was on his feet and going downstairs. Time to stop being a coward. He probably should have thought about what he would say before he was standing in front of Aziraphale’s chair, but he couldn’t turn on his heel and go back upstairs now.

Aziraphale looked up from his book with a little bit of annoyance at first, but his expression quickly grew troubled. “Crowley?” he closed his book and placed it on the table beside his chair. “Goodness, what’s wrong?”

He must have forgotten his sunglasses. He left his eyes bare more often these days. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but his stomach cramped and his hands felt like they would shake if he didn’t clench them into fists, his blunt fingernails digging into his palms. “I’ve got to tell you something. I can’t stay quiet anymore. It isn’t right.”

Aziraphale gazed up at him, fully alert and clearly nervous. “What is it?”

Crowley swallowed, his throat clicking. How could he say this without sounding mean? Oh, who was he kidding? There was no way to sugarcoat this. “I can’t give you what you want. I just can’t and you know it, I know it--”

“What I want?” he cut him off, curiosity lifting up an eyebrow. “What do you think I want? I can’t think of anything I want that you haven’t given me.”

Crowley’s nerves got the better of him. “You know that’s a lie!” he said, too loudly, too angrily. He noticed this and flushed out of embarrassment and frustration.

Aziraphale would have been irritated if it had not been for the look on Crowley’s face. Patiently, he said, “Please tell me exactly what you mean.”

Crowley nodded, because he had decided to give him the truth. Yet, he couldn’t look into those gentle eyes as he did this. He was a coward after all. Facing Satan was less frightening than breaking his angel’s heart. He looked down at his feet. “We’ve had fun these past few months,” he said, voice scratchy. “I didn’t wanna upset you, but I’m not a liar, either. Not to you. Never have been. You’ve been a good partner, telling me you love me all the time, but I can’t give that to you.”

Out of his line of vision, Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly,

“I can’t help it. I’m a demon, it’s who I am. And you’re not stupid, you probably know that and think everything will be fine, but one day you’ll want someone who can love you back and leave.” He lifted his head, but kept his eyes to the side, looking out the window. It felt like his heart bled with each word that finally left his head and came out his mouth. “I wouldn’t blame you at all if you did. You deserve better—someone who, you know, can return your feelings.”

Aziraphale was silent for a long pause, staring at Crowley, scrutinizing him. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

A couple was walking outside, past the window. Crowley looked away from them. “No,” he said, because he wasn’t going to start lying now.

“You do realize this is incredibly caring of you?” Aziraphale said, not sounding angry or upset at all, but puzzled. “For you to care so much about me and choose to let me go off and find someone else who’s supposedly more loving than you?”

Now looking at Aziraphale’s calm face, Crowley felt like he wasn’t getting it. Aziraphale wasn’t taking this seriously enough. He waved his hand. “Caring, shmaring,” he dismisses childishly. “That’s not the _point.”_

“Is it not?” he asked. “Isn’t the entire origin of this conversation your supposed lack of affection for me?”

Crowley was miserable and frightened at the thought of losing Aziraphale, and it led him to lash out. “Stop it with the qualifiers! Stop with the ‘supposed’ and ‘supposedly.’ It’s reality!” he threw his arms out by his sides dramatically, a juxtaposition to Aziraphale’s relaxed posture in the armchair. “It’s just a fact. Demons can’t love, no matter how hard I try.” His voice traitorously caught on the last word.

At that, Aziraphale’s befuddled-yet-calm expression turned sympathetic. “Darling,” he stood up.

Crowley stepped backwards, everything he’d fruitlessly tried to bottle up rising into his throat and tingling with anxiety, making him gulp hard. It wasn’t bloody _fair._ They were good together. They were finally free, but they could never escape their true nature, that Aziraphale was essentially a loving being and Crowley would never be. “I _have_ tried,” he said in a small voice, wishing his eyes were covered. His shoulders were hunched, an unconscious effort to make himself smaller. “I just can’t, I…” He swallowed again, but the pressure in his throat remained. Aziraphale always reduced him to this, a being so unlike the cool, suave person he tried to be. Frustrated and near a breaking point due to his own inadequacies, Crowley came right out with it. “I want to love you so badly,” he confessed, his voice weak. “I really wish I could,” he said earnestly, his chest aching.

Aziraphale’s face fell into utter anguish and he gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, _Crowley,”_ he said sorrowfully. “My dear, after 6,000 years, how can you be _this_ stupid?”

Crowley stared at him, dumbfounded. That...was unexpected. “W-what?”

Aziraphale took one of his (shaking—oh) hands in both of his, frown lines tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of _course_ you love me, you daft thing. You have for a long time.”

Crowley’s brain wasn’t functioning enough to produce speech and language.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I’m honestly shocked that you believe all that rubbish about demons being incapable of love. Haven’t we proved that Heaven and Hell rarely know what they’re talking about?”

Something clicked in his head. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Aziraphale sighed. “Seriously, how could you think that?”

“How could _you_ be so sure I’m wrong?” he asked incredulously. “You believed more about angels’ and demons’ nature and all that.”

He smiled sweetly. “I’m an angel. If there’s one thing we _do_ know when we see it, it’s love.”

Crowley was flabbergasted. “It can’t be that simple!” he protested. “You said we weren’t even friends before—I know you didn’t mean it, I know—but all this time you’ve been sure a demon could love?”

Aziraphale hummed. “Yes, I suppose I see your point. But, dear, I haven’t been blind to how much you’ve gone out of your way for me over the years. I felt rather guilty, actually, when I knew you loved me but I was too afraid to be with you.”

“Funny that you knew before I did,” Crowley said faintly, feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under him.

Aziraphale put his arms around his waist, steadying him. “Of course I knew,” he said gently. “You’ve always liked me, as a person, and wanted to spend time with me, and went out of your way to ensure my happiness and safety. Just now, you thought our relationship was unfair to me, so you were willing to put yourself through pain so I could be happy. I would be more flattered if it weren’t an incredibly dumb thing to do.”

Crowley blushed deeply. “It made sense in my head!” he defended. “Excuse me for—”

Aziraphale cut him off by shaking his head. “I’m not trying to be nasty, dear. It’s just that I love you and hate to think of you putting yourself through such pain over me. I don’t want that.”

His cheeks were a humiliated scarlet. He grumbled.

He kissed his cheek. “My question is: why do you believe that lie Heaven and Hell have told, out of all of them? Of the two of us, you always saw through their nonsense.”

Crowley thought about it, but he wasn’t sure he had a good answer. He put his hands on Aziraphale’s chest, just for something to do. He could only think of one thing. “I guess...that’s what we were told, and I’ve felt this way about you since we met, so how could it be love?” he asked sincerely. Maybe that was it: his feelings may have grown stronger over the years, but the core of how he felt was the same since the beginning. 

Aziraphale positively lit up. “Crowley!” he hugged him tightly. “You sweet creature.”

Crowley inhaled sharply, although he wasn’t complaining about the hug. “What’d I do?”

“You’re such a romantic,” he said dreamily. 

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he mumbled.

“Exactly!” he beamed.

Crowley couldn’t stop a little huff of laughter at his enthusiasm.

Aziraphale kissed him chastely, his cheeks pink. “You’ve always been fond of me, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“You were the one who went out of your way to talk to me in Eden.”

“Yep, I was.”

His light eyelashes fluttered shyly. “Perhaps...it was love at first sight?”

Heat burst in Crowley’s cheeks and he spluttered. “Wdfspffft—that’s not real! That’s not a thing!” His heart was racing.

Aziraphale kept smiling at him.

Crowley squirmed in his arms. “Stop looking at me like that,” he whined. Privately, he was beginning to concede that what Aziraphale said made sense. He had no actual reason to believe any of the bollocks Above and Below said. He had no justification for thinking the way he did. So...was this love? Was this what he felt the whole time? He did think Aziraphale was the best person (angel, whatever) he ever met. Crowley genuinely liked spending time with him, was happy when he was happy, felt warm all over when Aziraphale looked at him a certain way, would do anything to keep him safe, would literally go around the world to make him happy, and the worst moment of his entire life was when he thought Aziraphale burned in the bookshop, and he’d been ready to give up on life...He...he really was being stupid, huh.

“You in there, Crowley?”

Crowley blinked back to reality. His heart was still beating hard, but the sickly prickling of anxiety was gone. He licked his lips, looking into those blue eyes he spent countless solitary nights yearning for. All of those times he wanted nothing more than to curl up with Aziraphale and feel the beating of his heart beneath his ear. Crowley pressed his lips together. “I think I love you,” he said slowly.

Aziraphale giggled. “I think you do, too.”

“Just...one more thing,” he said, his mind going back to when they drove around Tadfield. “You can physically feel love, right? But you haven’t said you feel mine.”

“I can’t, no.”

“Then wouldn’t that mean I can’t?”

“Maybe demons can’t _emit_ love, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel it.”

Crowley was conflicted. “I don’t know if that makes sense.” It was hard accepting that he was in love this _whole time_ when he thought it was impossible. There was resistance.

“Maybe it doesn’t need to,” he shrugged. “Listen, Crowley. Humans love each other without physically feeling it, but they know it to be true. We’re on their side more than anything, yes? Perhaps this is another way we’re the same as them.”

“We’re the same as them,” he repeated, mulling it over. Loving the way humans do. That made sense. The ice was thawing from the pit of Crowley’s stomach. They didn’t have to break up. Did he really worry himself sick over nothing?

Evidently, yes.

Crowley felt like he’d been put through the emotional wringer, and he sunk into Aziraphale’s arms and buried his face into his chest.

“Oh,” he said with delight. “There you are.”

Crowley breathed in the clean scent of his jumper, feeling...loving. This comfortable, deep, soft warmth in his essence had a name this whole time. “Can we forget I was this stupid?” he mumbled.

“No,” Aziraphale said plainly.

He groaned.

Aziraphale caressed his hair. “Now, now, worrying yourself so because you thought you didn’t love me enough. That’s one of the most caring, albeit misguided, things you’ve ever done.”

“Shut _up,”_ he hissed into his jumper.

He scratched his scalp lightly. “You are, without a doubt, the most loving being I’ve ever known.”

Crowley lifted his head with a thunderous glare, instinctively ready to deflect and hiss and deny it. But he really thought he was going to lose Aziraphale, and now that those fears were gone, he didn’t have much fire left. His glare faded into something a little defeated and a great bit tender. “All right,” he said quietly, his voice lowering to a rumble. “But only you’re allowed to know, angel.”

And it was worth admitting to it to see the joyful look on Aziraphale’s face. “Of course, dear,” he said, and brought their lips together.

Later, when Crowley admitted that watching a sitcom was what caused the dam of his emotions to break, he really couldn’t blame Aziraphale for laughing until he was red in the face. Yeah, he could admit it: he was pretty bloody ridiculous sometimes. Whatever. He’d heard it was healthy to laugh at yourself from time to time, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this didn't come across as rushed, but the central conflict was something that could be solved pretty easily, and I feared writing more would just drag things out.
> 
> EDIT: the ever-lovely Whiteley Foster drew fan art for this fic! Please go check it out [here!](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/622461252406575104/crowley-not-being-able-to-express-himself)
> 
> If you liked this, please check out my [other Good Omens fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=LollipopCop)
> 
> Say hi to me on my tumblr [@obsessivelollipoplalala~](https://obsessivelollipoplalala.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Lot of Love and a Little Bit Dumb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683979) by [DoctorBride666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBride666/pseuds/DoctorBride666)




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